


'Morning' and 'Midnight'

by severinne



Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Sleep, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-10
Updated: 2008-11-10
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:43:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severinne/pseuds/severinne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two related ficlets in which Gene watches Sam sleep, and Sam watches Gene sleep in return.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Morning' and 'Midnight'

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jean geanie](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=jean+geanie).



**Morning**

This was becoming too easy, the lock broken too many times to offer much resistance to Gene’s heavy hand. He burst into Sam’s flat with nary a sound but a deep, wooden thump, the higher-pitched crack of the door striking the wall, the clomp of confident loafers making their owner heard as he strode carelessly inside. By Gene’s standards, his entrance bordered on stealth, but it still should have been loud enough to wake Sam, nervous bugger that he was.

Which was why the sight of his DI fast asleep managed to stop him in his tracks, mouth gaping in shock.

Because he was surprised, that was all. Stunned at the lazy, senseless git. The sight of Sam’s lean body stretched out amidst the scant covers had nothing to do with it at all.

He swallowed with a dry, hollow click in his throat, his eyes tracking over the narrow cot and its sleeping inhabitant. The sheets and one blanket were heaped low around his hips and splayed legs, leaving his torso in its thin white vest exposed to the humid summer heat congealing in the too-small room. One small, curled hand had caught the hem of his vest, rucked it up slightly in his sleep to reveal a taut stripe of expressionless skin that made Gene flush in a way that the sight of Sam naked and handcuffed to this same bed had never accomplished. That little bit of flesh gleamed with sweat, matched itself to the lewd expanse of his neck, exposed by the sideways twist of Sam’s tousled head into the pillow and Gene held his breath, unable to decide which piece of skin was the more tempting to taste.

Gene lowered himself to one knee, careful to brace his outstretched hand on the bed frame and _not_ on the wrist of that other arm laid so temptingly over his head. From this angle, he could see Sam’s face turned partway into his pillow; even sleep couldn’t fully erase the worried crease from his brow, the dark circles beneath the darker shadow cast by his eyelashes, but his mouth at least was slack and soft. Flushed pink and parted, the pout of his lips stripped years off Sam’s face.

Arm shaking with the effort of preventing his own weight from crashing into the bed, Gene leaned tentatively closer, caught a whiff of sweat off Sam’s skin. His smell was likely all over the bedding as well, and Gene turned his head slightly to test the scent of his pillow, closing his eyes as that familiar musk filled him.

Sam’s flat really was too hot. It had been an uncomfortably warm night in Gene’s house as well, in the front room where Gene had tried to catch a few restless hours’ sleep on the settee. He’d kicked his own blanket off in the night, and Gene considered giving Sam a hand with his own coverings. Wondered if he had a hard-on under those blankets.

Heart racing, Gene surged to his feet, staring at Sam with a dawning sense of horror. The bastard was still completely clueless, sprawled out asleep, displaying himself like a ruddy tart just waiting for anyone to waltz in and ravish his lithe, lovely, _gorgeous_ …

Gene reached for the door and slammed it shut. As hard as he could. Sam shot upright, eyes wide, head snapping around, gawking like the twonk he was. Better.

‘Wakey-wakey, Sleeping Beauty,’ he announced gruffly. ‘Not payin’ you to just lie on yer back all day.’

  


 **Midnight**

‘Not lettin’ you drive ‘ome like this, Guv.’ Sam clutched the keys to the Cortina in his sweating palm, tried to keep his gaze stern and level.

‘Oh, aye?’ Gene glared blearily back at him from over the rim of his spotty tumbler-full of Sam’s cheap blended. ‘S’too far to walk back to mine…’

Sam waved what he hoped was a casual hand. ‘You can take the bed.’

Eyes drifting shut, Gene answered with _that_ noise, the one that fell between a purr and a growl and landed firmly on the switch of Sam’s libido. Sam bit his lower lip, let the offer hover.

‘Yeah. Ta.’ Gene drained his whisky and lumbered awkwardly to his feet, blissfully too drunk to notice the anticipatory sigh that Sam couldn’t repress against his own inebriated state. He sipped his own drink as he watched Gene strip off his suit jacket and loosen his tie.

‘You…?’

Sam blinked, distracted by the interruption. Gene was gesturing vaguely between Sam, himself and the bed even as he fumbled with his shirt buttons. He couldn’t possibly be offering _that_ , no matter how drunk he was, and the bed was too small for them both in either case, so Sam covered his disappointment with an offhand reply.

‘I’ll kip in the chair ‘ere.’ Best view, really. Sam tugged the armchair around slightly and sat down.

‘Oh. Right.’ Gene tossed his shirt aside and toed off his loafers with an almost petulant air. ‘G’night, then.’

The fragile cot released a metallic groan in protest under Gene’s body, exactly the sound Sam had imagined many times before. Several more creaks marked the progress of Gene settling into the mattress, then ended with the soft snuffling sound of Gene’s breath easing into drunken sleep. Sam finally released his own held breath, and stared.

Some small part of Sam’s mind, the obnoxiously sober part, knew he should be ashamed of this, but it fell conveniently silent once Sam found his eyes transfixed by the paradox of Gene’s formidable shape sprawled across the bed, across _his_ bed, tossed carelessly over the covers, nothing hidden from view. Even in sleep, he was neither silent nor still, his deep-chested breaths making his broad back and shoulders rise and fall in a steady, primordial rhythm.

 _Primordial._ Sam gave his head a derisive shake, unable all the same to discard the opportunity to simply watch Gene without fear of being watched back, this rare view of the man softened in sleep. His feet in their darned beige socks stuck off the end of the bed, his legs too long for the brief mattress. One bare arm hugged Sam’s pillow to his chest, and Sam’s mouth went dry at the thought that Gene’s nose nuzzled into the thing might have been deliberate.

Releasing a shaky breath, Sam stretched sideways in his chair, his fingers catching Gene’s camelhair coat and dragging it into his lap. He searched the pockets, another faint spike of shame piercing through him as he drew out the pack of Marlboros and Gene’s silver lighter, but he forcibly quashed it down, needing something like Gene’s taste on his tongue. The acrid smoke, combined with the whisky already staining his mouth, would be close enough to satisfy his imagination.

Sam took a first long drag off the cigarette, blinking hard as the smoke clouded up into his eyes, obscuring his view. Irritated, he blew away the first mouthful excessively hard and slumped back in the chair as he continued to smoke, gaze stroking up and down Gene’s long legs, his own hand idly grazing over the bulge in his trousers.

Sam burned, slow and sure as his diminishing cigarette and the two more that followed. He burned with need, with loneliness and shame that spread their heat over his skin even after he had slipped a hand inside his trousers and, eyes fixed to Gene’s sleeping shape, palmed himself towards a silent yet intense orgasm.

He burned in the close, humid air of his poorly-ventilated flat as he wiped his hand over his thigh and drew Gene’s heavy coat closer around his body.

He didn’t sleep a wink that night.


End file.
